


like two sheets of ice

by mandyfuckinmilkovich



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 17:30:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1109586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandyfuckinmilkovich/pseuds/mandyfuckinmilkovich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And here he is, almost 19, and he doesn’t bruise easily."</p>
            </blockquote>





	like two sheets of ice

**Author's Note:**

> Note: this isn’t really a happy fic altogether, but it’s winter and Ian helps Mickey and they’re in love. I’m sorry. (this was posted on tumblr first).

Mickey’s dripping blood onto the snow.

It’s the middle of the night and so fucking cold, he can see his breath and not feel the throbbing in his face. Mickey likes to think he doesn’t bruise easily, not after growing up the way he did, made to be tough, tougher than the average asshole out on the street. A Milkovich is made of stronger shit and Dad always used that as an excuse to hit them harder, hit Mickey harder, tell him to suck it up, be quiet, be angry, get used to it filling him up and spilling out of his fists because the world shits on people like Mickey, weak and bent over coughing and choking on air that’s burning through his lungs.

Mickey always spit blood out, caught his breath, said let’s do this shit again sometime Terry. Dad always smiled. Mickey always felt weirdly proud, like Dad was trying to prove a point or something about himself and his sons, that he won’t take their shit but they’ll sure as hell take his. A fucked up sign of respect and Mickey always felt like he was learning a lesson. Being made into someone his Dad’ll eventually respect, be proud of.

And here he is, almost 19, and he doesn’t bruise easily.

When Ian comes, running through the snow covered field, Mickey already regrets texting him. Weak, so fucking weak, he can’t even go a night without cleaning himself up. Without ruining things like snow and holidays and the freckled skin he starts counting as soon as Ian comes into the light of the dugout.

"Oh shit." Ian’s chest is heaving and his coat is unbuttoned and Mickey can see this ugly ass Christmas sweater, complete with Rudolph and tiny bells and they move when Ian crowds his space and Mickey lifts his hands to push him away but he ends up clutching the itchy material, pulling and grabbing and wanting to tear, wanting to ruin, the way he was ruined and the way he knows he’s ruining Ian, taking him away from things like his family and covering him in his blood, getting him dirty.

Like Mickey.

Ian kneels down in the snow, eyes wide, mouth open, breathing hot and heavy on Mickey’s face. Mickey breathes him in, the booze and the sugar and chapstick, wanting to go back home and let Terry punch him in the face again. Mickey wonders just how gay that makes him, wanting to hide from his Dad with Ian, then hide from Ian by wanting to go back to his Dad and let him finish him off.

"Oh Jesus, Mick."

Mickey closes his eyes, feels Ian’s fingers gentle on his cheek, wiping Mickey’s blood and tears away.

The air between them is heavy and tense and full of things Mickey knows Ian wants to say and “Don’t you fucking say anything Gallagher,” Mickey says without any anger or malice and Ian just stares at him, his throat working. Because Ian knows the drill, Ian knows about drunk fathers who don’t give a shit. Ian knows about blood and broken noses and yelling until you’re hoarse and tears.

Ian knows about bruising easily.

But Ian also knows about smiles and laughter and being so gentle with Mickey as he picks up snow and wipes the dried blood off Mickey’s face. Ian knows about things that Mickey’s never been touched with.

He knows about getting blood on his ugly Rudolph sweater and not saying anything. He knows about laying on the cold hard cement of the dugout with Mickey, holding each other so tightly and breathing each other in and feeling like he doesn’t know where Ian starts and he ends. Ian knows how to give those to Mickey, Mickey just doesn’t know the right ways of accepting them yet.

And when Mickey looks at Ian, at his freckles and his eyes so light and still so worried and when he kisses him so tightly with warmth in his chest, Mickey thinks that maybe Ian causes a different kind of bruise, inside rather than outside. And that maybe those ones are meant to be something different. Better.

Ian holds him tightly and kisses his forehead and his eyes are wide and light and Mickey falls in love and doesn’t feel his face throb.


End file.
